Blood, Bonds, and Horny Qunari
by FondledFaraday
Summary: Edric Cadash is quite possibly the world's worst choice to be the Herald of Andraste. His motivators? Making people bleed, drinking, and yelling at people. Adventure, Romance, Jokes, Naked Qunari! Now with a foreword by Varric and an extremely angry and slightly racist Elf! Rated M for eventual graphic violence and some hight-disproportionate romance!


A winter stillness sounded throughout the land. Once and twice it reared back with a soundless howl before broken by the crunch of leaf underneath poorly-maintained boot. A boot would have been insulted at the comparison, more a bundle of dirty rags which disturbed silence in the bone-white stillness of a Ferelden winter's morn. Two figures trudged their way through the ankle-deep snowfall of the night before, leaving furrows behind, one large and plodding, the other slender. An Elf and Human walking together was odd enough a sight, let alone in the dead of the coldest month of the year. Their destination was approaching quickly, a ramshackle inn along the side of the road beckoned with a cheery glow visible through the small cracks in windows battened down tight against the winds.

The figures made their way through the small town, seeing every so often a wrinkle of movement, a rustle of cloth and the sound of livestock; the telltale sounds of a village awakening for another day. The slimmer figure pulled her cloak tight 'round her head, hiding the pointed ears that marked her as an elf. While more respected than they ever had been before, who knows what people would think in this backwater area of the rather barbaric kingdom? Her companion, a man in his middle years, was just as wary if for different reasons. It had been a hard winter, the looks on the faces of the few he saw outside said as much. The people of this village had endured much, and here they were chasing down a _storyteller_, of all things. He scratched the two-week growth on his face, the absurdity of the longshot lead they were following hitting him hard.

_I can see it now, "Excuse me, I know you're all starving to death over here what with the warring and upheaval these past few decades, but I simply have to know if you've seen a wandering storytelling Dwarf around these parts lately. No? You want our food instead? Oh __**jolly **__good day!"_ It was idiocy. At least until they both heard the last sound they were expecting to from a village in the very center of nothing.

Laughter from the inn. A struck chord on a lute. Amateurish playing of the instrument. However, the voice was anything but. A strong, warm baritone that settled over her mind like a coat of warm velvet, it drew her eyes towards the commonhouse. She elbowed her companion, single eyebrow raised. "Laughter. You think...?"

"Why not? It's about time we were up for some good fortune, _especially_ since that incident in Redcliffe."

The Elf turned red, "He was a _Dwarf_ singing a song! Telling tall tales of the fucking Hero of Ferelden! Which is _pretty much exactly who we're looking for_." She punctuated her speech with a toss of her head, adding yet more fallen snow to the ground underfoot.

"You didn't have to threaten to drag him off by his beard, you know."

_Hmpf._ "Shems. Shems and Dwarves!" Her mouth spat the words as if they were poison, and she no doubt would have continued, but the sound of bootheel on hardwood got her attention just in time to miss running facefirst into a stairpost. The sign above, worn as the rest of the town, showed promise.

"Rover's Rest, huh? You'd think they would be more inventive with their names."

The man spared his companion a withering glance before heading inside, door squeaking. For such a small body to contain so much bitterness always surprised him. Not soon after the thought, he stumbled onto what seemed to be a scene out of a storybook. A dozen dozen people, all arranged around a single chair in which sat a Dwarf.

Varric Tethras, world-traveling storyteller and sordid romance writer sat in the common room of a tiny inn in the middle of the Bannorn of Ferelden. A surface-dwelling Dwarf with a quick wit and an even quicker smile, Varric made his living off of having a horible habit being near the great and powerful. He grinned at the two newcomers.

"Seeker! Now I know people come from all over here and anon to hear tales, but this is a bit ridicuous, don't you think?"

The Elf slid out of her cloak, draping it carelessly over a chair, dark leathers of her jerkin contrasting with the stark white eye within a sun that marked her as a Seeker. A secret order with power that could contest a Templar, the Seekers would not be sent to engage in idle gossip. "If you spent more time running, and less time speaking, we would be hard-pressed to find you, _Dwarf_." Her mouth curled up in a sneer, scar marring the side of her face twisting and writhing in the firelight. "Everyone!"

Her hands clapped once as her companion slammed the door shut.

"We have _business_ with the Dwarf. If you would prefer to remain involved with him, by all means, stay in this room."

Needless to say, the room was empty sans Dwarf, Elf, and Man within minutes. Varric spread his arms, lounging back on a stool. Or as much as a four-foot tall man could lounge on a chair designed for the much taller specimen, anyway. "Now that you've sent all of _my_ business away, Seeker, what can I do for you?"

The Elf took the seat across from Varric, her companion looming like some everpresent ghost in the shadows, silent except for the odd creak of booted heel on wood.

"You know exactly why we're here. Two people, one of which has slipped the _Nightengale's _grasp not once, but two times!" The absurdity of hiding from the most powerful spymaster in the world was only second to the fact that they were _succeeding_ at it. "Hawke and Inquisitor Cadash!" The Seeker bolted up from her chair, the wood cracking on the floor behind it as it toppled underneath her.

"Where." A step forwards.

"Are." Another one, now within distance to smell the ale on the Dwarf's breath, her hand clutched tight to a dagger at her waist.

"They?" The final word punctuated with a **thunk** as the knife slammed into the table between her and Varric.

The Dwarf raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Now listen here, Seeker. I don't find myself in the company of these individuals on purpose, mine and Hawke's meeting was nothing but happy accident! And not to mention that the _leader of your order_ was the one who introduced me to the Inquisitor!" He grinned. "They're preoccupied right now, can I take a message?"

Her mouth agape at his audacity, the Elf gripped her dagger, ripping it out of the wood of the table.

"**TAKE A MESSAGE?!" **Her voice a near-shriek. "**This thrice-damned world is reeling from everything those two did and you're asking us to leave them. A MESSAGE?!"**

"Well, maybe I _could_ tell you a bit about where they went, 's long as you put that away, ma'am." Varric pointed at the dagger in the Elf's hand, gleaming in the firelight. It slammed in its sheath at her waist.

"Fine, but I don't want a story, keep it short, _Dwarf_."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Now Seeker, you know of the Inquisitor, that much is certain. But you _don't _know Edric Cadash. If you want to know where he's going, you need to know _who he is_, first." He grinned, sensing a long tale in the making.

"Grab a seat other than that stool, Seeker, this is going to be a _long_ night."

**A/N: Welp. Here's my first foray into any kind of fan fiction whatsoever, so there's that. Hope you guys like! Doesn't fail to mention that this will include _massive_ spoilers for DA: I.**


End file.
